Necessary Evil

Chapter 14

Back at the Bear's Cave, Kier added a log to the low blaze and opened the last two blankets on the tree boughs, creating the impression that two had slept by the fire. For a moment, he imagined her lying there, her ears still covered by the makeshift headcover, wispy tendrils hanging over her forehead, her pensive smile. Then he remembered her as he had first seen her. So confident with her beautifully coifed hair and glossy lips. Tonight he had noticed her lean body, her breasts firm even under a wrapped blanket. Now she was in bed, in their hut, curled among the leaves. But it wouldn't do him any good.

He pulled a hatchet and a large knife from the pack, testing each with his finger-both were satisfyingly sharp. Setting them aside, he removed a large black cook pot and packed it full of snow before setting it in the fire. Last, he took out a stiff wire with a large sliding loop at one end. With the hatchet and his light he hiked sidehill to a tall, young sugar pine. He chopped it down, limbed the top ten feet, then dragged it back to the big cave. Propping up the thicker end, he used the knife to peel the outer bark from the trunk. Next he removed long, thin sheets of the inner bark layer-a softer, white material- which he cut into ten-inch strips. After packing the pot with the pine strips, he left it to boil.

With the wire loop in hand, he snowshoed down the trail toward the hut, but continued on past the turnoff, tramping hard, making the trail as well worn as he could. This time he went a good four hundred yards before he slowed. Casting about with his light, he verified his location by a clump of pine and the edge of an old forest fire that had crested the hill years before. At the margin of the burn, the trees were smaller and younger; there were older, now completely rotten logs, which appeared as gentle hillocks under the deep snow. He moved slowly, listening within himself. Trying not to think about rabbit trails or rabbit tracks, he let his mind drift while his gaze wandered over the terrain illuminated by the small light.

After he had traveled through the trees some distance, perhaps fifty yards, he located an old trapper's cabin completely fallen in. Each time he saw the cabin, he witnessed the progression of its melding into the earth. Anything that could disappear so thoroughly, reverting to its origins, was a marvel. He went to the back of the ruin, close to the place he would set his trap.

He smiled, and thought of the old ways, of Grandfather… of a day when he was young, and very hungry. At twelve, going two days without a significant meal had been excruciating. On one winter camp trip, Grandfather sat by the fire and waited for Kier and his two friends to find food. Enthusiastic hunters, they had set off to shoot rabbits or squirrels or maybe a porcupine. But it was the dead of winter, and the animals seemed to have disappeared.

Using everything they knew, they searched. They stayed out of the deep forest, looking for openings, or creeks, burned areas, logged patches, areas of transition from one forest area to another-all places they would expect to find rabbits and squirrels. But they were overeager, and the one time they did see a rabbit that might be susceptible to their razor-sharp arrows, they missed.

As their hunger increased, their abilities waned. Sheepish, they returned to camp, announcing imminent starvation. Slowly Grandfather rose and led them into the woods. His blanket almost touched the ground as he moved easily in his snowshoes.

"Stop thinking about food," he said. "Relax your mind, let your eyes take in everything-not just a few things. Let your gaze remain unfocused. Open your senses. When your mind is used up with failures, listen to your instincts."

Grandfather went slowly for a time, about one hundred feet from camp, as far as he had gone the entire trip. "Now tell me where you feel like going," he had said.

"Well, there are no rabbit tracks around here," young Kier said.

"Where?" Grandfather asked softly as if he hadn't heard. Kier gave him a confused look. His two friends appeared even more perplexed. "How do I know where to go, if I don't think about it?"

Then Grandfather walked on and began telling them a Tilok story about the beginning of the world, talking as if nothing but his story mattered. The boys trudged along behind, utterly demoralized, until Grandfather stopped.

"This is where I feel like going," Grandfather announced.

Ahead was a large blowdown that the boys had passed many times before. Here the hillside broke straight away from the ridge top on which they walked, and the wind often roared up to the forest's edge. Half a dozen trees had been knocked down from the winds several years ago. They were still only a few minutes from the camp.

"Now where do you feel like going?" Grandfather asked.

Without reply, Kier crept into the giant tangle of old fallen trees and new madrone, black oak, and tan oak that had grown up among them. After he'd walked maybe twenty feet, a rabbit jumped out, bounding away. Then another flitted past-before he could shoot. When the third rabbit stopped to look, Kier pierced it cleanly with an arrow.

He said the hunter's prayer his grandfather had taught him: "My brother, I take your life so that I may survive. I thank you for it."

Tonight he turned, following his instincts again, and walked four paces. He found a fresh rabbit track in the small, round beam of light. Was it luck? He shook his head, amused at the way his so-called formal education had caused him to doubt himself.

Having set his rabbit snare, Kier moved quickly to create his alarms. He wanted to know if anyone came up the mountain. Removing some fishing line from the canvas bag, he went back down the trail that led toward the valley below. It was a short way to an area where the walkway passed between two mammoth rocks. Here the trail was no more than four feet wide and bounded by thick huckleberry, so that the visual corridor was barely a foot wide. Carefully stretching the leader, he hid it in the snow. For a few moments, he considered how he should lay the grenade. If he placed it under a lip of the rock face, the explosion would alert him to an intruder, but probably injure no one.

He put a heavy, forked stick in a tiny pocket of rock that would shield the blast. With a secure bowline knot, he affixed the trip wire to the pin on the grenade, which he placed on the far side of the fork. If someone caught the line, it would yank the pin.

It took thirty minutes to do the same thing on the less-traveled alternate route because of the difficulty in finding a spot where those on the trail would be largely shielded from the blast.

Finally he set another grenade just outside the cave under a wheelbarrow-sized boulder. Whether he wanted to or not, in his mind he would be waiting.

Jessie was half asleep, letting her mind wander, too tired to rein it in. The wooden steps grew green with fungus in the damp shade under the bushes. Fourteen steps led to the side door of Frank's summer home in upstate New York. She knew, because she had helped repair them. She was to meet Frank and the others on Saturday, but she had come early Friday afternoon without telling him. She knew Frank wouldn't care. He was a hang-loose kind of guy.

It was a happy moment when she found Frank's car and Mitch's in the driveway, along with a third she assumed to be Fred's. She thought it would be fun to surprise them, so she sort of sneaked up the fourteen steps, past the patio furniture, past the huge, now-empty garden planter, up to the window.

Then, in an instant, Jessie was back on a bitterly cold mountain in a tiny hut, barely surviving, maybe about to die. Tears, remnants of the memory were clouding her eyes. Why did she keep doing this, reliving the moment in her head as if maybe history would change itself?

The truth was, it was better here on this damned mountain than on that patio.

Someone was moving outside the hut.

"It's me."

Relief flooded her; she even felt something akin to good will. But no sooner had she relaxed, than the feeling of foreboding returned. But this was a different foreboding. Fear of possible disease, of the unknown, gripped her. She wondered if she felt ill.

Feeling herself descend into obsessive worry, she checked her pulse, then tried a hard swallow to test her throat. She probed the glands in her neck for swelling. Her skin felt clammy.

Was that a symptom of something? Poking her stomach, she thought maybe it felt tender.

Stop! she told herself. There was nothing to be done.

Kier had now removed the door plug. When he pushed his clothes through the opening, she turned out the light, knowing he would be naked. Outside, she could tell, it was dawn. His wide shoulders were silhouetted when he came through.

"I could use a little light," he said.

Okay, so he didn't care about being naked. She turned it on. He came through the opening inches from her nose. There was a bronze smoothness to his skin that made him seem earthy.

Kier replaced the plug, sealing them in. He spread his clothes next to hers at the head of the hut, then slipped in beside her. She doused the light. Still wrapped in her blanket, she lay spoonlike, six inches from his back. Falling to about the level of her calves, her impromptu wrap left her well covered. Only her feet and shoulders were actually exposed to their mutual bed.

The chill from Kier's entry still hung in the air; no longer was she completely warm. Of course, the solution was obvious. But she couldn't imagine herself just cuddling up to his body as if they were lovers. She would give no false messages about wanting him.

"I could hug your back and you would be much warmer," he said out of the darkness.

"Uhm." She cleared her throat. "I think maybe that would be uncomfortable." She felt him roll over and face her. In the black, she tried to see his eyes, but couldn't.

"Relax. You don't have to like me to keep warm."

"I never said I didn't like you."

"You're chilly and mad. I propose to solve only the first problem."

"Cute." There was silence. "It's not as if I don't have a good reason."

His hands went to her shoulders. "Turn over," he said. She rolled, disquieted, but saying nothing. She felt his large body behind her, enfolding her, and it was blessedly warm.

"What do you use for lust suppression?" she asked, trying to determine if she was going to allow this.

"Your tender disposition should do fine."

She let her body move a little closer. Waiting, she felt no pressure from his thighs. After a few moments, she let her body mold itself to his shape, luxuriating in the warmth of it. She was careful not to sigh.

"This togetherness-for-warmth business changes absolutely nothing."

"I believed you would die if you came out of that trapdoor right after I did."

"I could have died staying down below. Why does your risk assessment apply when it's my life we're talking about?"

"When it's someone you care about and you're in a hurry, you just do it. You don't convene a debate."

"Someone you care about. Me?"

"Bizarre, isn't it."

There was a long silence that let the need for a conclusion hang between them.

"So you're saying you think in some sense you care about me?"

"You're sister to my best friends."

"And that's the way you care about me. As a relative of your friends."

"Well, at least that. I suppose I'm feeling some chemistry that is obviously one-sided."

"Obviously," she said. "What do you mean you 'suppose'?"

"You don't know the meaning of 'suppose'?"

"So you're really mystified about what you feel?"

"Let's get some sleep."

"Chicken."

"Uh-huh."

Tillman leaned back in the chair and took a sip of black coffee. This time he sat alone at the table.

The Indian had finally done as expected and taken off for the high wilderness. Climbing rocky ridges where the snow played a constant game of musical chairs, tracks wouldn't last long. Tillman probably could have followed if he had done so immediately, but most of his men would have been incapable. And Tillman was not yet ready to commit to the chase. Kier had the woman with him and therefore could not travel at his full potential. He would walk most of the night, then rest. Probably he would go to either a natural or a man-made shelter. In the morning it would be smart to press him with the troops and wear him down a little.

After visiting the charred cabin and watching his men chase about like angry beagles, Tillman had left in disgust and returned to the Donahues'. He and Doyle had spent only about twenty minutes to sort out the real trail. He wondered whether the all-night march and the chase would wreak havoc on the woman's nerves. Maybe she was really tough. Tillman could almost hear them bicker under the stress.

As he savored the acid taste of the black coffee, he decided exactly what he would do.

"Doyle, Brennan," he barked.

He took another sip while he listened to their heavy-booted footfalls come from the family room.

"I want you"-a nod at Brennan-"to take snowmobiles and go to the Tilok reservation tonight. Just start knocking on doors. Tell them that a plane crashed and Kier went into the mountains looking for survivors. Tell them we need to know the shelters up on Iron Mountain where he might stay. Offer them money if you think it'll help. Get them to show you on a map. If you think it's absolutely necessary, offer to pay one of them as a guide, but only take one Indian and no more.

Keep in mind that whoever you take will have to have a serious accident."

"What if they come up here on their own looking for their buddy?"

"Tell them that Kier doesn't want people walking around because it will interfere with tracking survivors. Tell them we need to find him only because we've lost radio contact and need to get him another radio. Explain that the government is using armed soldiers to keep everybody out of this area to allow Kier to do his job unhindered. Then, if you have to, that's when you offer to take one as a guide and representative.

"Doyle, you'll stay here. Brennan, you will then lead one of three groups up the mountain. He'll go the route we consider most likely after interviewing the Tiloks. We'll put two other groups up on different ridges in the next most-likely areas. Everybody will look for tracks. In some of those snowfields any idiot can see tracks.

''I'm going to head out by myself on the heels of Brennan's group. No one is to know this. Absolutely no one. Tell the men I've returned to Johnson City. Brennan and I will talk on a scrambled channel. Doyle will stay here at the command post with the other men."

"You're going to hunt Kier while Kier hunts Brennan's group," Doyle said.

"Precisely. You'll have a chance to test your defensive skills against one of the best," Tillman told Brennan.

"How many men will I have?" Brennan asked.

"Ten starting from the cabin," Tillman said. "You may have to split up, because there is more than one ridge. But when you find him, if you find him, we'll bring them all together and bring in the other two groups."

"If the men don't know you're out there, they may confuse you with him."

"I'll worry about that. You and I will talk. I'll know where the men are at all times. If we have to tell the men someone else is out there, we'll just tell them it's a hired tracker, working alone."

Kier approached the hut, proud of the food he had managed to gather in such a short time. She had slept through the early morning and into the afternoon. He had taken fairly lengthy naps, and as soon as they ate he intended to sleep several more hours.

Concerned that he would startle her from a deep sleep by slipping into the hut, he pulled the plug and whispered: "It's okay."

"You found a phone booth?"

"You have a cozy house with food. Technology is overrated."

"Did you say food?"

"Turn over on your belly and sniff straight ahead."

''Gosh, I didn't know starvation could do that to your nose."

"Up here you don't take the simple things of life for granted."

"What kind of food?" He heard the eagerness in her voice.

Kier crawled under the covers, settling in beside her. ''Today the mountain offers up rabbit and bread." He reached back to the entrance to retrieve some tinfoil packages.

"I'm hungry," she said, once again breathing in the smell of the freshly cooked food. "Unbelievable that a scent can be so glorious."

"Breakfast in bed."

He pulled in the plug and turned the interior dark until he snapped on a light.

"Where did you get bread?"

"Reach out your hand."

Her fingers touched something that felt like a cake of oatmeal.

"What? Do I just… hhmmm… Well, it's not terrible." She chewed the cake.

To Kier it tasted slightly bitter, bland, with maybe just a hint of sweet. The subsequent bites he knew would be a little better as their appetites grew.

"You've got to tell me how you did this."

"In the night, I boiled the inner bark of a sugar pine. I got up a couple hours ago, pounded the boiled strips into a mash, and then pressed them into cakes before putting them in the fire. Using tinfoil from the canvas bag was cheating, but faster than trying to bake in hollowed-out stones. Here, now try this."

The rabbit was juicy, warm, and tender from slow cooking.

"God, food never tasted this good." She took a second mouthful, this time a huge hunk. "I see where you got your reputation. We've been here a night and most of a day, and you have created a house with dinner. Really, your prowess at survival is remarkable. If only you were a little more… maybe conventional is the word I'm looking for."

"You wish I thought like a white man from New York."

"I wish you were at my mercy instead of me at yours."

"Would you be nice?"

"I'd be horrible." She gave him a wicked smile. "And I'd wish for a phone, a bathtub, central heating, and paintings on the wall. But one of us decided to run around the mountains and the other of us had little choice but to follow. Still, I would like to thank you for the food. That and this book are the only things I can think of to be thankful for at the moment."

"Because of that book we know a lot more than he wants us to."

''We know the guy who wrote the diary figured Tillman was out to kill them and we know they're all pretty damn dead. From what you've been saying it sounds like he's got some incredible technology."

"I think he can predict the effect of genetic mutations. And I think he can create them."

"What are you talking about?"

"They have a giant computer program they call the God Model. Tillman can plan a specific change to your DNA and predict its effect. Like his scientists could maybe grow you a new scalp and turn you into a redhead."

"My hairdresser can do that."

''Or more to the point they could use a computer to randomly generate potential mutations in a gene related to your pancreas, predict the effects of all the various mutations, and then choose one whose effect would be positive for adult onset diabetes."

"I'm beginning to get the picture. But why haven't we heard about this 'God Model'?"

"There's a reason. We just have to discover it."

"If he's manipulating Tilok genes, they might hang him for that."

"Not if they never find out," he said.

"Yeah. The troubling part is that the proof may be incinerated. He's got everything except us and Volume Five. And he doesn't have Volume Six. Have you come up with any ideas about who left those tracks by the plane?'' She hunkered down under the covers and got a little closer to him for warmth.

"It appeared to be a lost man unaccustomed to the forest. But I'm not completely sure."

"What do you mean?"

''He moved away from the plane up a small rise before going downhill again. Most lost and confused people just go downhill right away. They take the path of least resistance without thinking. So it doesn't quite fit. If I'd had time to follow, maybe I could have figured it out. Tracks talk even when their makers don't want them to."

"Doesn't seem like anybody would have walked away from that crash."

"Doesn't seem like a lost city type would be hanging around in a blizzard." Kier reached under the clothes pile, and pulled out the heavy binder. "For the moment we better read what we've got."

As Kier read, he tried to organize in his mind the big picture concerning the research of Tillman's laboratories. He understood that the government's genome project would only map DNA structure. The real trick was understanding how slight changes in the order of the nucleic acids of the DNA would ultimately affect the proteins formed by the body.

He could see that what they dubbed the God Model was a very sophisticated computer program that was able to anticipate how a change in DNA would affect the amino acids that were expressed in a cell and then create impressive three-D projections of the protein molecules that would unfold in the body. Kier was also intrigued by Tillman's extensive work with viruses. For years scientists had attempted, sometimes successfully, usually not, to use viruses to transport altered genes into an organism. This could serve either the purpose of repairing a damaged gene or replacing a gene defective since birth. Viruses were simply little strands of DNA wrapped in a coating that allowed them to enter cells easily. Once inside the cell, the injected DNA could become inserted into the cell's host DNA, carrying along any nucleic acid chains that had been added to the virus.

One of the many difficulties with this approach was the problem of deactivating the carrier virus, known as a retroviral vector, in such a way that potentially infectious viruses could not be reformed in the body.

He stopped reading when Jessie stirred.

"So what have you figured out?" she asked.

He saw that her blanket had loosened, partially exposing her breasts in the soft light. In response to his gaze, she pulled the blanket tight around her.

Then she said, ''My theory is that they wanted to discover the gene for stubbornness and came to the Tilok. The logic is inescapable. Either that, or they wanted great hunters with large dicks."

He thought she wanted to smile, but it never came. "Tell me what you've figured out," she said.

Kier began by going over all the basics of human genetics, then plunged into the more exotic work of Tillman's labs.

"It's not surprising that if you can crack DNA sequences and manipulate their structures, you have a massive shortcut to disease control. All the labs ended up with a major emphasis on genetic research. They built viruses to deliver repaired genes to treat humans. Scientists often use viruses as biological delivery wagons, but neutralize them so they are supposedly harmless. I'm reading here about how they used an altered African virus that way. It was some kind of a rare virus that they liked because it could invade so many cells and was harmless."

"Okay. I got that. You might take such a virus-"

"They call it 'RA-4T'."

"Okay, RA-4T or whatever, change the sequence of its nucleic acids-that's the same as its DNA, right?"

"Yup," he said. "You'd do that to make sure it didn't replicate. Usually they take out so much genetic material from the original virus that the chances of it activating into a serious and complex virus is miniscule. Only I think there might have been a hitch in this case. They call the vector RA-4TV, and apparently they purposely removed some DNA from it to deactivate it. There is a lot of technical material in here about that."

"For all your whole-earth philosophy, Kier the doctor is steeped in science. You know this is telling me a lot more about you than it is about viruses. I can picture you in a college lab explaining things. There's another side to you, Kier."

"Never mind about me. The fact is, I think they cloned people."

"I knew it! Carbon copies of grown people, right?"

"Yes. Listen to this."

" 'We introduced a diploid nucleus from a cell of HO 121249533561289 into a fertilized egg from which the nucleus had been removed and introduced it into the uterus on the first day of what we had determined to be a very regular twenty-eight-day menstrual cycle.'

"Supposedly these are monkeys. But they have a thirty-seven-day menstrual cycle. At least chimps do. Humans have a twenty-eight-day cycle. When they identified the monkeys by I.D. number, they would begin with 'MA' for macaque. I think 'HO' is Homo sapien. I think it was a revealing slip of the pen. They're so into their research they occasionally drop the fig leaf."

"Why are they cloning people?"

''Believe me, I'm trying to figure it out. But you can't speed-read this stuff.

"There's another reason I think they're cloning people. In another section is a summary of the experimental vaccine and the AVCD-4 antivirus for another viral disease. I'm not sure what it was. But I'm suspicious that it was RA-4TVM, which I believe is a mutation of the vector virus. Which is a puzzle because it was supposed to be a harmless vector for delivering genes and there would be no reason to develop a vaccine and antivirus to attack it. It says here:

" 'HO 1212 and HO 0814 infants who did not receive the vaccine had a spike in plasma antigenemia two weeks after injection with RA-4TVM. After four weeks, high levels of the virus were present in T-4 cells, with only 1,000 to 10,000 PBMCs needed to recover culture. The nonvaccinated infants then received the vaccine and antivirus, with the result that after sixty days we could not recover any of the challenge virus from ten to the sixth PBMCs, in HO 1212 clones. To achieve the same result in HO 0814 clones took 150 days.' "

"Just tell me what it means," she said.

''Well, I think it means that they took cloned humans and used them to test a remedy for this RA-4TVM. Anyway, it worked. When they injected these infants with RA-4TVM, they were all cured by the combination of the vaccine and the antivirus. But one set of clones had much better genetic immunity and was cured much more quickly. Another reason I think it was humans is because when they are experimenting on monkeys they use SRA-4TV, or SRA-4TVM, which, I think, is a version of RA-4TV that infects primates. Here the reference is to RA-4TVM."

"I'll take your word for it." Even though they had talked about it, seeing it in print obviously shocked her. "God. That seems really far-fetched. You're telling me they cloned babies and then gave them some disease and then cured them?''

"I'm just suggesting. I didn't say it happened."

"If they cloned babies and thereafter infected them with a disease, that would explain why they so desperately want these volumes back."

"Right."

''But what is this disease? Is it like a common virus?''

"I doubt it. The notes indicate it was an African virus that started out harmless. Then they made a vector and it looks like from the research that it became a problem."

Before he could continue, she cut him off. "Look, I've got the gist and I'm never going to master the details. It's a given that if you can fix genes, you can cure most disease, right?''

"Yeah. Most pharmaceutical companies study genetics so they can develop drugs to interact with the proteins to affect disease processes that actually get their start in defective genes."

"Genes can be defective at birth or they can get defective because some kid swallows lead paint or the like. Right?" she asked.

"Right."

"You can be born with genetic weaknesses or something in the environment can cause a mutation. It's why people buy organically grown vegetables."

"Right again."

"You're telling me that Tillman's guys are trying to work at the beginning of the chain reaction instead of the end. Instead of trying to fix the screwed-up proteins or the run-amok cells, they're trying to fix the DNA that started it all. To fix DNA they make harmless viral vectors out of disease viruses to be used as carriers for the repair genes."

"That's it."

"See, I've been listening."

"So with all their great ability-the computer and the God Model-what would possess them to begin experimenting on people?"

"You've got to have empirical proof. It would have a lot of advantages for everybody except the poor clones that served as guinea pigs. Getting human genes into mice and then experimenting on the mice is really tough and slow. Many so-called cures work on mice but not on people. When your data comes directly from people you don't have those problems. That's kind of an obvious answer. But there may be a much subtler answer. It may be that cloning people and deliberately changing just a few genes in the process enabled them to create these computer models. Ultimately, you'd forget the human experimentation and just use the computer, once your model was good enough."

"So when you were far enough along, you'd tell the world that the whole thing was just a computer exercise," she said.

''Yeah and show them a bunch of empirical work with mice and monkeys."

"The link to the Tilok surrogate mothers is obvious, isn't it? If someone were cloning people, they would need human mothers, wouldn't they?"

"That would be far easier than trying to grow an embryo in a lab tank."

"So if someone worked at it, they could take an adult person and make an exact copy. Like they've done with animals."

He shrugged. "It would be spooky if they did."

"This all still doesn't quite explain why they had a planeload of diseases."

"True. Let me keep reading."

She lay next to him, her head on a pile of clothing, soaking up the warmth of his huge frame. He tried to push from his mind the feelings generated by this closeness. He could not recall ever wanting a woman this badly. Ignoring it would require some effort.

After she had dozed for what seemed like minutes, she propped herself on her elbow. He gave a furtive sideward glance and smiled. She was reading the text. This section of the volume was describing a means of analyzing gene function using DNA chips. When he next glanced over, he saw that she had fallen fast asleep again. The image of her face took hold of him, bringing about a peculiar concentration. It was as if he were trying to discover her essence in the pleasing lines of her face. Maybe it was infatuation. Feeling strangely reenergized, he went back to his study.

Day faded into night. They alternately ate, slept, talked, and argued. Kier read. Finally, he crawled out of the hut, dressing in the falling snow, exhilarated by the frosty air.

Taking a pinch of snow, he crawled partway into the hut and sprinkled it on her forehead. She twitched her nose. Watching her, he broke into a large grin. It felt as if his cheeks would crack. He sprinkled some more, this time across her partially exposed breasts.

"Kier, what are you doing?" She awakened, pulling her blanket around. Then she smiled. "Gentleman don't peep."

"Who was peeping?"

"You do have a certain boyish charm, even when you're lying."

She shoved him out of the hut and began dressing. As he looked around at the beauty of the winter mountain he realized that, aside from all the violence and the chase, he was happy in this place, even in the dead of winter. Snow covered the good and the bad, until the thaw when it would all come out. New life. Decaying remains. Everything. Jessie needed a spring.

Something was hidden, something was troubling her. With the decay might come something new and good. He wondered if he would be around to see it. At first glance, she seemed a difficult person. Hostile, cynical, irritable. Some vestige of a sense of humor remained.

But this was not the essence of Jessie. It was what he sensed but couldn't completely define that attracted him the most, her passions and her willingness to throw herself headlong into life. For him it was like looking at someone through bottle glass. Very little was plain, but one could see shadows, glimpses of what might be.

Crawling out of the tiny cave after a twenty-minute struggle with her clothes, and then having to stuff them with leaves, didn't improve Jessie's mood. Kier nodded his greeting.

"We will gather more food, eat, and sleep tonight. Then try to make it to a very wild place by tomorrow evening."

She groaned. "We will have to build a new hut?"

"There is already a better hut. You'll see."

"Man, it's cold."

Kier looked her over. ''If you're cold, then your clothes need more leaves."

"I can barely move as it is." She demonstrated her stiff-legged walk to his stony stare and concealed amusement. "So what did you learn with all the homework?"

At that moment an explosion shattered the mountain's solitude. Echoes reverberated. Kier reached in the hut for the four blankets, stuffing them in the bag. He plucked up two of the automatic weapons, handing one to Jessie. She felt her pockets for the ammo, checked her pistol, then took two of the remaining four grenades.

Moving almost parallel to the false trail that Kier had laid from the main cave, then angling in toward it, they slipped through the trees, their automatics ready to fire. He turned and stopped.

"They tripped a trap grenade I set. I need for you to go way down the trail," he said. "If anybody gets to you, kill them."

"What trail? There is no trail except in your brain. It's been snowing all morning."

"There'll be an indentation in the snow where I tromped it down last night. I went a few hundred yards past where we turned off to go to the hut. You'll see it, near the granite cliffs, up near the ridgetop. If you don't find it, I'll find you. If I don't come, follow water downhill."